In the early hours of Sunday, June 15, as ballistic missiles soared from Iran into Israel, their impact was felt more than 5,000 miles away across the world, on the Atlantic seaboard of Massachusetts.
That day, Rabbi Levi Lezell, director of Chabad of the South Shore, received a phone call from the Bay Path Rehabilitation and Nursing Center. A 98-year-old Jewish resident named Philip Levin, sensing he was nearing the end of his life, was searching for answers and asked if the rabbi could stop by.
As Lezell walked the fluorescent-lit hallways of Bay Path and entered Philip’s room, he was met by an elderly man who still spoke strongly.
“My father came to America in 1888,” Philip told the rabbi. “I was the youngest of six. We grew up on a farm in Connecticut, and my parents were proudly Jewish. My mother would send us on the trolley into Hartford to study Torah at the Garden Street Synagogue. I still remember our chickens squawking louder, frantically, as the bus passed the ‘Welcome to Hartford’ sign; they seemed to know the kosher butcher,” he chuckled.
“Eventually, I became an engineer,” he said. “I worked for NASA, built missile systems in Boston, even taught at Brown for a while. But somewhere along the way, I drifted from it all, my father’s tefillin, my mother’s chickens. And then these attacks in Israel started happening, and it all came rushing back—the fear, the hate. I remembered getting beaten on the school bus just for being Jewish.
“I’m very worried,” Philip said softly.
“We may not be on the front lines,” said Lezell, “but we’re still connected, and every Jew can contribute. Would you like to put on tefillin for Israel?”
“I’ve never had the chance,” Philip responded.
As Lezell gently wound the tefillin around Philip’s arm and then placed it on his forehead, a look of joy born from a buried nostalgia came across his face.
“I remember these,” Philip whispered with emotion. “My father used to put them on every morning at five before milking the cows.”
There, lying in a propped-up recovery bed, the nonagenarian had his bar mitzvah.
Adversity Fuels Jewish Pride and Practice
It was in the anxious days before the Six-Day War in 1967 that the Rebbe first directed his followers to put on tefillin with Jewish men around the world, placing special emphasis on soldiers in the Israel Defense Forces. In calling on soldiers to perform the mitzvah, the Rebbe quoted the verse “the nations of the world shall see that the name of G‑d is upon you, and they will fear you,” adding that the Talmud explains this “refers to tefillin.”
The campaign extended to helping Jewish people of all backgrounds wrap tefillin and has endured in the decades since it was launched by the Rebbe. Every time Israel is faced with more, thousands more are moved to perform the mitzvah in the merit of the safety and security of the land of Israel.
“Since Oct. 7, we’ve seen a deep desire to connect and help in any way they can. People are grateful and empowered when they’re offered the opportunity to do something spiritual for Israel,” says Lezell, who directs Chabad of the South Shore together with his wife, Mushky Lezell.
Chabad of the South Shore has launched multiple initiatives for Israel, including a mezuzah campaign that offers free mezuzahs (a symbol of safety) for any home that doesn’t yet have one; purchasing tefillin for members of their Young Jewish Professionals program; starting Torah classes and hosting Shabbat community dinners. In the rabbi’s words, “Seeing G‑d’s undeniable protection is inspiring us to look inside and grow.”
For nearly a decade, the Lezells have nurtured Jewish life across the South Shore, a region spanning about 20 towns between Boston and Cape Cod. Having established Chabad of the South Shore in 2015, they are based in the cranberry bogs and colonial harbors of Plymouth, Mass.
“When we first visited, the need for the furthering of Jewish life here was abundantly clear,” says Lezell. “And that moved us; we felt a calling. A place where we were most needed. A place to fulfill the unique mission of our generation: to care for the unnoticed soul. That was the Rebbe’s credo: to find and strengthen each Jew, wherever they may be. That’s what inspired us to come here, to help each Jew blossom and be the best they can be.”
When the rabbi returned to Bay Path a week later, he was greeted by a middle aged man standing beside Philip. It was his son, Marc, and he wanted to put on tefillin, too.
Sometimes, it takes a war half a world away to awaken a pair of Jewish souls.
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